


The Luckiest Tuesday

by Lumi_Pastelmoon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: But Pepper is in it, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Mentions of Taylor Swift, Not a kid fic, Rare Pairings, Slow Burn, Swearing, Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Relationships, like a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumi_Pastelmoon/pseuds/Lumi_Pastelmoon
Summary: Pepper's Mum is annoyingly calm when War appears in her kitchen. Does silliness ensue??? Yes. Read this, we have biscuits.
Relationships: Pepper's Mum/War (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. The Kitchen is a Warzone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HopeCoppice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/gifts).
  * Inspired by [War & Peace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745269) by [HopeCoppice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice). 



> I wrote this because of this work: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745269/chapters/46734151
> 
> I don't know if Pepper's Mum has a canon name, but I had fun trying to come up with one.

Lucky-Tuesday Moonchild was making chocolate-chip biscuits with extra chocolate chips when she looked up and saw that War was sitting on her counter. She was a little surprised by the sudden company of a stranger, but she didn’t question it. The universe works in strange ways, and the universe had gifted her with a red-headed lady sitting on her kitchen counter. She smiled and thanked fate for choosing her. Why not? 

Having completed her train of thought, she turned her attention back to the biscuits, which were coming along nicely. Lucky liked baking. It was an activity that gave her a great deal of spiritual peace, not that anybody thought she needed any more of that than she already had. Despite this, her baking creations were often a little… Well. Not “unsuccessful”, as she had certainly accomplished the task of creating an edible item. Not “bad-tasting”, as that was a value-judgement on the baked good itself, and Lucky was very against that kind of thing. She didn’t want to lower the self-esteem of the poor things. They were a little different, yes, but that wasn’t a problem, was it? A little burned, but miracles come in all flavours and textures and colours, and of course one must embrace them in all of their forms. Still. Lucky didn’t want to admit it, but she was hoping to make some that turned out like the ones all the other Mums made. Like the little picture beside the recipe instead of like the physical embodiment of despair itself. She didn’t ask for much.

The lady on the counter coughed, pointedly. Lucky missed the pointedness entirely, however, and skipped straight to worrying if the stranger was ill. Perhaps that was why she had been sent this gift. She was supposed to heal her. This was a little vexing. Lucky was not exactly a Doctor. She had crystals and things, of course, and essential oils, but recently she had been questioning whether they really worked, just a little. They hadn’t fixed Pepper’s cold the other week, and now that she thought about it, not her sore-throat last month, either. Fine. So they weren’t strictly effective, but still. They looked pretty and smelled nice. Lucky was an easily pleased person, and she thanked her crystals for being all sparkly and nice, even if they didn’t work and they’d had to go to the doctor anyway. They couldn’t hurt, even if they couldn’t heal.

The lady coughed again. She was getting a little irritated by all of this, all the humming and smiling and baking and apparently not noticing her at all. She usually made more of an impression! Then, the damn human finally spoke to her, and it wasn’t even a terrified plea or anything. It was just:

“Sorry to interrupt your vibes, but could you be a dove and move over a little? I can’t reach the drawer.”

War laughed, almost hysterically. What? But the human was still looking up at her, smiling in an expectant manner. Oh, it was serious. War slid down from the counter and sat down on the flour-covered floor in a graceful-yet-effortlessly-cool manner. Which is to say, criss-cross applesauce. 

Lucky respected this immensely. She, too, didn’t believe in chairs. Or shoes. Or washing her hair. All of these were things that her daughter found immensely embarrassing (which, although she would never admit it, was part of the appeal), so it was nice to have found a kindred spirit. 

“Fab! You can lick the spoon after I’m done mixing if you want.”

This was the last straw.

“What the actual, genuine, mint-condition, collector’s edition (with tags) FUCK is this?”

This, at least, a caused the unhinged human to briefly cease her mixing.

“Well, let’s see… It’s a kitchen, isn’t it? Unless that’s not what you were asking. Maybe it’s a metaphor for society, then? You see, I’m the woman, and I’m baking, and that represents how women are pressured to be good at things like cooking and sewing and yet also shamed for doing those same things? So you can’t win. See how I pin the entirety of my own self-worth on how these biscuits turn out, even if I pretend I don’t care? Society, man! Way out! No, a real metaphor would be how baking the biscuits is parenthood, and I’m placing expectations on these biscuits (my children) to impress others so that I myself look good. That’s a bummer. The poor biscuits. They didn’t ask to be baked. Are we having fun yet?”

“That’s it. I’m leaving.”

“Cool! Free will, my precious-cherry-child. I’ll miss you!”

“We met, like, ten seconds ago. How could you miss me?”

“It was longer than that! Might’ve even been minutes instead of seconds! We’re practically best friends by now!”

“I’ve said about one sentence to you.”

“Underestimating again! You’ve said three! First, you said ‘what the actual, genuine, mint-condition, collector’s edition (with tags) FUCK is this?’ and then you said ‘That’s it. I’m leaving’. Which, may I add, you still haven’t done. How flattering. Then you said ‘I’ve said about one sentence to you,’ just now. We’ve been having a blast.”

“You don’t even know my name!”

“I didn’t want to assume you had one.”

“It’s Carmine.”

“Groovy! I’m Lucky-Tuesday Moonchild.”

“Yes, I know. The narrator said. What’s lucky about Tuesday?”

“All the good things in my life have happened on a Tuesday! Let’s see… I was born on a Tuesday, my first kiss was on a Tuesday, I discovered pineapple sorbet on a Tuesday, I gave birth to Pepper on a Tuesday, I sewed my first skirt on a Tuesday... It fell apart a week later but you know, smile because it happened and all that... Today’s a Tuesday, so… I met you on a Tuesday!”

“Don’t imply that meeting me is a good thing.”

“Isn’t it? Didn’t Einstein once say that if a red-headed woman turns up on your kitchen counter one day, good things are sure to follow?”

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you? Unbelievable.”

“I’ll remind you that you still haven’t bailed.”

“Okay, so maybe I’ll stay. But only cause they told me to.”

“Groovy! You can have the spoon now. And the bowl, if you want. I have a good feeling about this batch if I do say so myself.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me who ‘they’ are? Or like, I don’t know, why I just materialised in your fucking kitchen?”

“Nope! Oh, and swearing’s fine now, but if you could stop when Pepper gets home, that’d be cool. I mean, I want to raise her to be independent and free-thinking and all, but I’m also afraid of what the neighbours will think if she picks up that habit. Not that she hasn’t already. Okay, on second thought, it’s fine.”

“Who’s Pepper?” Asked War, cause I didn’t tell her yet.

“My Daughter! She’s very cool. I’m a big fan.”

“You have offspring? Never mind, I’m leaving.”

“It’s okay, she’ll probably just ignore you and stay in her bedroom all day eating two-minute noodles and blasting Taylor Swift. She thinks I don’t know, but I do. Either that or she just hangs out outside with her friends all day, doing God-knows-what.”

War laughed because She does know. Lucky took this as a sign of blossoming friendship and laughed as well. 

“Come on! Try some of the mixture!”

She passed the spoon down to War, who inspected it as though it were a particularly nasty thing she found underneath her black and imposing boot. Black and imposing were two of War’s favourite words because she prided herself on her edginess. She also secretly listened to Taylor Swift, so she felt a strange attachment to Pepper already, as well as sympathy towards her for having to live with this thing. Not that that made up for the fact that she was under thirty, though.

Lucky was looking at her expectantly, again, was that the only facial expression she was capable of making? So she stuck the spoon in her mouth and bit its head right off. She chewed up the wood and baking mixture easily and swallowed. She looked up to see if the human was scared yet.

No. It fucking giggled. 

Hell, swallow me up. I wanna go home.

“I won’t ask if it tasted good on principal, but did it taste like biscuit? The normal kind, you know. That other people make. I’ll put ‘new spoon’ on my shopping list.”

War considered the flavour of the biscuit with every crumb of her dark and bitter soul. What would be an appropriately snarky response that would give the human more opportunity to say something preposterous back? Or should she just set the house on fire and leave? She was getting kind of tired of this already. Just say reply, and then we can all go home.

“Tastes like love, I guess. By that I mean gross.”

She regretted it as soon as she said it. Satan had probably recorded that and was ready to put it in his “Edgelord Cringe Compilation #57 (Try Not To Laugh)”. The human was delighted, naturally. Disgusting.

“It tastes like love?! It tastes like love!! She said it tastes like love!!!” Lucky was practically jumping for joy. 

War yawned.

“Of course, you can have some when they’re finished baking. Oooh, it tastes like love… I’ve never been paid a higher compliment!”

“Your entire self-esteem really is tied to those biscuits, huh?”

“And yours is tied to how well you can act like you don’t care, isn’t it?”

“I don’t care. Never once in my life have I ever cared. If I accidentally cared about something I’d set it on fire and then eat it. And then my fucking intestines would be on fire. And then I’d jump into a fucking volcano, and then almost die, and then go back in time ten seconds to almost die again, and then just keep repeating that so I could experience pain that should kill me forever but never the actual satisfaction of being dead. Because that’s what should happen to people who care.”

“Of course, dove. You sound exactly like Pepper does, you know?” Lucky giggled. “I know that on the inside you’re secretly all soft and fluffy and gooey, like a little teddy bear. You said my biscuits taste like lo~ove!!”

“You do seem to be fixated on that, yes. I’m leaving.”

And this time, she really did.


	2. Beelzebitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Swearing Occurs and jobs are spectacularly failed at.

But then she came back. Albeit sulkily. The human seemed pleasantly surprised.

“Hullo! You’ve come back! That’s groovy as heck! That’s pretty neat! That’s lit, fam, as the kids are saying these days. I’m very hip and down with the kidz. That was “kids” with a “z”, by the way. Just so you know I’m cool. Fortnite!”

War sighed, deeply, and fixed her with a look of great disappointment.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that… It’s just something I’m trying out, y’know? Gotta keep finding ways to embarrass your kids, and all that!”

“I’m going to sit here, and concentrate very hard, and see if I can’t erase the past few seconds from my brain.”

“You can do that?! That’s pretty bad, my lad. Bad as in good. I am quite trendy, aren’t I?” Lucky gave herself a hearty pat on the back.

“Say, human. What do you think I am?”

“Well… You keep turning up in my kitchen. So, a person who wants to chat? But then, also, you keep insulting me. So… A rude person who wants to chat. Oh! Wait!” Lucky turned to War threw her a suspicious look. “You only like me for my biscuits, don’t you? That’s why you showed up again! That’s mean. But also flattering, cause most of the time when someone tries my biscuits, they… Well. Let’s just say the funeral business in this town is booming. Just kidding! Or am I? You’ll never know!”

“You’re implying that your baking is bad enough to kill people.”

“No! No. No. No? Yes. A bit. Anyway, “bad” is a value judgement, and we don’t use those in my Pastafarian household. I prefer to say… Causes adverse side-effects. Such as possible death.”

“Bit of a slow way to kill people, isn’t it? Just one at a time? You could be more efficient in your methods, I think.”

“The objective isn’t to kill people! It’s to spread joy and happiness! With a slight chance of possible death, yes. But you didn’t die, and you came back for more, so take that, cherry girl!”

“One, I can’t die, so me not keeling over from your baking is frankly not an achievement you should consider being in any way proud of. Two, your biscuits are atrocious and a blight upon the face of the earth, and as much as I’m in favour of blights upon the face of the earth, the bloody spoon was tastier. The spoon. Three, I have a name. It’s Carmine. Use it or I’ll do something mean and dastardly, like cry.”

“It’s neat that you can’t die. Maybe I should get your autograph. Anyway, my biscuits are quite flavourful, thank you very much! It’s just that the flavour seems to be burnt cardboard and the souls of the damned. Still! It’s an acquired taste! I remember your name, I just gave you a cool nickname! Nobody ever gives me cool nicknames, so I give them to everyone in the hope that they get the hint. I’m very lonely. Anyway, you’re called Cherry now! Cause guess what! Your hair is red! Whaaat? I know.”

“One, you’re supposed to be surprised that I can’t die. Are you a defective model or something? Do I need to install the ‘surprise and fear’ module? How about the ‘self-preservation’ one? Cause I ate a spoon, and you didn’t even tremble. Bitch. Which leads me to two. Which is, your biscuits are still bad, blablabla, why is all you ever talk about biscuits? And then three. My name is Carmine. I chose it myself, cause “War” is a very suspicious name to humans, and I’m supposed to blending in.”

“Blending in, huh?”

“Didn’t say I was any fucking good at it, did I??”

“I can pretend to be surprised if you want me to. I wanted to be an actor when I was five! I can even pretend to suspiciously question you if you like! Like a detective! I hope this is a detective story, although it’s starting to feel a little like it isn’t. Okay, I’ll start being suspicious now! What kind of creature are you, anyway, that can’t die? Who sent you here? Why is your name War? Were your parents as edgy as you are?”

“Okay human, do me a favour and forget just about everything I’ve ever told you about myself.”

“Which isn’t much.”

“Which isn’t much. One, I am literally war. You know what war means, right? It’s only three letters, it can’t be hard. Two, I was sent here by hell. Cause they hate me. Cause I kind of failed at something big. Three, my name is War because I am literally fucking war and somebody somewhere isn’t creative with names. Four, I don’t have parents, and I pride myself on being the edgiest fucker in existence, so if there was anyone edgier than me I’d probably eat them. You think I’m joking, but I’m not. Okay, now I’m gonna erase your memory.”

“What?! Why? That’s mean. We were connecting just then, y’know! We really had something! We’re probably secretly soulmates and you’re gonna fall in love with me over about six chapters before I tragically die in an accident straight after we had a fight so that you feel guilty your the rest of eternity cause you never told me you loved meee… ” 

“The fuck. No, human. I gotta erase your memory, and then walk into your house again and be like ‘hey Lucky! It’s your long lost childhood friend Carmine! I live here now!’ And you’ll believe me, cause you’re the dumbest ass that ever dumbed a dumbass.”

“Why though? Pretending to be a human can’t be any fun! Hang with me and be my cool edgy supernatural-entity pal buddy bro!”

“The boss was all like ‘go to this random human’s house and pretend to also be a human so you can spy on her fucking kid’s friend.’ So I gotta pretend to be human. Or they’ll fire me. And that sucks.”

“That does kinda suck. Why’re you gonna be spying on my ‘fucking kid’s friend’, by the way? Just out of curiosity. And Motherly Concern. Don’t eat my child please, that wouldn’t be very cash money of you.”

“Well at first they were like ‘go to this human’s house, get some info’, but of course they didn’t specify what kind of fucking info, so I endured your awful company until I realised how pointless that bullshit was. I went back to the boss and was like ‘seriously why the fuck did you send me to spy on this thing, it’s a few cornflakes short of a cereal aisle and twice as crunchy.’”

“Thank you! I try.”

“So anyway the boss was like ‘yeeeeah we didn’t wanna tell you cause we don’t fucking trust you anymore after you failed to end the fucking world, nice job there Karen.’ Which is also not my name by the way, before you go getting any ideas. So I’m all like, “you’d better fucking tell me, or I’ll do something both of us will regret…’”

“... Like cry.”

“Yeah, that’s usually my go-to. So the bitch is like ‘okay well actually we want you to spy on her kid cause her kid has a friend who’s kinda the antichrist, or at least used to be, we’re not all that sure,’ and then I eat her desk out of pure rage cause I hate children and I love eating desks. Yeah. And so finally I’m like ‘but why am I supposed to spy on this random friend of the antichrist instead of just the fucking antichrist himself, don’t you think that’d be more efficient, oh great Master, Lord of Mould and Things That Stick to Your Shoe,’ and she’s like ‘yeah, but we hate you, so we’re gonna try and make you live with that kid that called you a bitch and then killed you. Cause it’ll be funny.’”

“My child called you a bitch and then killed you?”

“Little bit, yeah. I came back, obviously, but it was annoying.”

“I’ll have a few words with her about killing my friends.”

“See that you do. We’re not friends, though. Anyway, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted... I was like ‘oh fuck, that kid?’ and the boss was like ‘yeah, fuck, that kid’ so I was all like ‘fuck you, Beelzebitch,’ which was fucking funny if I do say so myself. Boss didn’t think so, so he sent me back to your shithole and told me to fix the mess I made last time. In conclusion, a memorable theme in the text is that messing up destroying the world will have lasting consequences on your career prospects, and also the only reason I could tell you any of that is cause I’m gonna wipe your memory now. Bye!”

War clicked her fingers, then ran out the door, slamming it behind her. She waited a few seconds, then rung the doorbell. It was opened by a cheerful Lucky.

“Hello, dove! Want anything?”

“Hi, you don’t know me, but I’m your long lost cousin Carmine, who is Definitely and Irrefutably a Genuine Human Person, Hello How Do You Do.”

“Oh, are we playing a game? Okay, hello human person I don’t know and definitely isn’t secretly literal war and works for hell! Can I interest you in a tasty spoon? I bought more since last time, in case you popped by. Not that there was a last time, of course.”

“What the FUCK.” War looked disbelieving, then sad, then angry. She stamped her black and imposing boot. “Why do you still remember me? I erased your memory just then!”

“You’ve messed up your job a bit, haven’t you...”

“Little bit, yeah.”


	3. Hella Un-Lit, My Fire-Engine Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which lemonade is not described.

“Alright, alright, so that didn’t work. What the hell do I do now?”

“You could always try again. Persistence is a good quality, you know? I’ll grab some refreshments for us and you can have another go.” Lucky smiled motherishly. “You tried your best, that’s the thing, and trying your best is very important. I’m proud of you.”

“I’m not particularly proud of myself right now. I don’t usually keep messing things up, you know? Usually, I’m all like… ‘Boom, boom, pew pew pew, good job War, you killed seventy-five million people, here’s a coffee and a card we all signed to show our appreciation.’”

“I don’t believe in coffee…” Reflected Lucky, absentmindedly. “It messes with your psychic energy. I tried it once, and my aura was brown for days. Brown! Not groovy, man.”

“You know what? You were being all nice and supportive a second ago, but now you’ve just gone back to spouting off about nonsense again. How does anybody put up with you?”

“They don’t, really. I’ve been told I’m a little… Much? You’re the first friend I’ve had in a while, so I was really happy when you turned up again. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Believe me, I wish I never had to see you again.”

“That’s cool. That’s groovy as heck. But still… Even if you didn’t mean it, it made me happy. So, thank you.”

Well, this was uncomfortable. War wasn’t really used to being thanked for anything. You don’t start World War Two expecting to get people lining up to tell you how much that inspired them and filled them with joy. She didn’t even get thanked by hell, really. The coffee was made of mud and dishwater, and you could only tell what it was supposed to be because it came in a mug with “koffy” written on the side in whiteboard-pen. The card was signed, yes, but the unfriendly citizens of hell both prided themselves on their illiteracy and also hated her with a burning (hah) passion. The signatures were usually just suspicious-looking smears or some kind of ominous threat, like “don’t wear green on a Thursday if you want to keep your spleen”. War didn’t wear green much anyway, but still. She was attached to her spleen, and a little worried about losing it. 

Anyway, here she was, being thanked, of all things. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Oh, how Marge from accounting would laugh if she ever got wind of this. But still. It wasn’t, like, awful. She hadn’t exploded into a million pieces or turned into a frog that could only communicate in strange, humanlike screams. She wasn’t really sure what the protocol was on being thanked. She hadn’t looked it up because she’d figured that the odds of her, the indirect-ish murderer of a not inconsiderable number of human-beings, being thanked were astronomically unlikely. So she just stood there, pondering how to react.

“You could throw something at me,” volunteered the human helpfully, as if she could read her thoughts. “That seems like your style.”

“Yeah, maybe…” 

Not a bad suggestion, but perhaps lacking in finesse. War considered. She should probably come up with a witty yet devastating comeback to use in case she was ever thanked again in the future. She hoped she wouldn’t be. The whole situation was very confusing. She’d been trying her best to spread misery and sadness, but going on this interaction, that didn’t seem to be working. She might have to change her strategy a little when working with this particular human, as the ordinary methods didn’t seem to affect her.

“Well? Are you going to, or should I go and fetch some refreshments?”

“Shut up, human, I’m trying to think of a cool comeback.”

“Fab! You do that, then, dove, and I’ll go fetch us some lemonade.”

Lucky disappeared back into the house. It was a hot summer, so she had spent some time making her own lemonade. It was successful enough if you consider success at making lemonade to be making something that vaguely resembles a liquid substance. I won’t describe it to you, because even reading it would probably burn your eyeballs out, but you’re a big kid, you can use your imagination. It had feet.

Lucky hummed to herself a little as she pulled out the lemonade bucket from the fridge. It had grown too big to be contained in a bottle, and soon she was worried she would have to move it into the bathtub. She had already been researching swimming-pool prices, just in case. One of the feet blinked at her and gurgled a little.

“What’s up, homeslice? Having fun being… Um, a foot? That’s cool. Love your work. Keep it up, buttercup!”

The foot sprouted five more mushrooms in appreciation. Lucky smiled. She dipped a cup into the bucket, filling it with puce-coloured, chunky sludge. The chunks were jellylike and seemed to be… Well. I said I wouldn’t describe it. 

Once she had filled up two cups with the lemonade, she took them out to the doorstep, where War was still standing. She looked a little lost. Lucky giggled. This was a good sign, she thought. Secretly, she had decided to turn War into her little project. The poor dove seemed a little troubled if all the swearing and dramatic displays were anything to go by. She could fix her, she thought, and if she could fix this creature, then perhaps… Well. It had to be said that Pepper and War had certain… Similarities. These weren’t very good kinds of thoughts to have, she knew. Still, she had them.

“Look! I brought you lemonade! I made it myself! Pretty super, right?”

War stared into the lemonade, and the lemonade stared back. 

If there was lemonade in hell, she thought, it would definitely look like this. In fact…

She took a glass and chugged it in one swift motion. The lemonade did not take kindly to being swallowed. It dissolved half of her stomach and bit off one of her lungs before finally rising back up and pouring out of her ears and nose, puddling onto the ground and then slithering its way back into the glass from whence it had come.

“What the fuck? What did you put in that thing?”

“Well, I just followed the recipe! I found it on the internet, you know. Not to brag, but I’m very modern. I know how to use a microwave!”

“One should hope so.”

“Well, what do you think? By the way, I don’t mean to mess with your vibes, but your eyebrows have turned into a tree. ”

“That was truly the most disgusting substance I have ever had the genuine displeasure of consuming. If I had to describe it a word I’d say… Actually, no. I don’t think there’s a word for that very specific flavour that blends mouldy earwax, parental disappointment, the sensation of being trapped in a cupboard that just keeps getting smaller, the smell of ten tonnes of boiling glue being poured over your naked, skinless body, and durian. Can I have the rest?”

“You liked it that much? I’m super touched! You’re too sweet!”

“No, bitch. I fucking hated it. I’m gonna bring it back to hell and tell them I invented it to see if I can’t get a minuscule pay-rise.”

“Well,” Lucky lowered her voice to a whisper to make sure that the lemonade couldn’t hear. She didn’t want to hurt its feelings. “It is, um… Rapidly expanding, and my house only has limited space, and Pepper would think I was a little uncool if I filled the bath with it, you know how she is…”

“If our last encounter is anything to go by, a blemish upon the face of the earth…”

“That’s hella un-lit, my fire-engine sister. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it. Anyway, I had been looking for some kind of method to dispose of it, so if you could take it back to hell with you… That would be radically tight.”

“‘Kay. Here’s how this is gonna work. I’m gonna erase your memory, pretend to be your childhood hamster who mysteriously reappeared after all these years, you’ll believe me cause you’re an idiot, blablabla… Spy on your kid for a bit, take the sludge and leave. Got it?”

“Hm.” Lucky had a crafty look in her eyes. “If you erase my memory, how do you know that memory-erased me will let you make off with my precious slime? After all, this slime is like a weird-smelling, mouldy child to me. It’s basically a second Pepper. How could I ever cope with a strange woman running off with my baby?”

“Ah yes, clearly it’s priceless to you. I can tell by the fact that you were so eager to get rid of it earlier.”

“Oh, come on! All I’m asking is that you don’t erase my memory. I could pretend that you were my childhood cupboard-monster and that you’ve just popped over for a while for completely non-nefarious, non-child-spying-on purposes. If we work as a team, it’ll be easier to trick Pepper, right?”

“That’s… Not as dumb as half of the other shit that comes out of your mouth, yes.”

“And besides! You already tried it once, and it didn’t work! Don’t you think that’s fate? Isn’t it destiny? Aren’t our auras perfectly aligned?”

“Okay, definitely tempted to chuck the rest of the lemonade in your face and erase your memory anyway.”

“We don’t even know if you can. Have you ever done it before?”

“I haven’t needed to. I’m more of a big destruction, don’t worry about the consequences kind of woman.”

“If you tried it again and it didn’t work, that’d be pretty embarrassing for you, huh? I’m not the sort of uncool person who’d laugh at poor, sad souls whose powers have gone all scuzzy, but I presume that in hell there’re lots of people who would.”

“Okay. Fine. Keep your bloody memories, for all I care. Not that I couldn’t erase them if I wanted to, cause I totally could, I just don’t feel like it. Yeah.”

“Epic! Thanks, Cherry. I knew I could count on you!”

“Don’t get used to it.”

And at that moment, Pepper finally showed up.


End file.
